#walk-brass

[thieves-oasis]

i crave numidium artwork. i need interpretations of this massive brass god

[chalkrub]

more svanhildr - trying new things, like a brave boy

[a-mel0n]

guys we all know that the lafd wouldn't ACTUALLY disband the 118. think about it. their specialist little boy evan buckley is there. y'know. the man that sued the city bc he wanted to get back to the 118 SPECIFICALLY? and then STOPPED suing the city just... randomly??? please, it'd never happen.

[draaf-luskiitiik]

Let’s go

[ddagent]

Sergei Orestovich Nikulov. Margo Madison.

[inspiredlivingspaces]

IG vivirdesign

[skrunksthatwunk]

i would really appreciate it if i didn't have a brain that thought torturing me was a helpful response to being scared of us. im your copilot stop fucking tazing me you dick

[sheltoner]

i have not had a single minute of down time since six am 😭😭

[jacqcrisis]

i kind of thought making a dragonborn in bg3 might be a mistake given how odd he'll look next to any other character, but then i got through tutorial and picked the option to shake Shadowheart awake on the beach and now I realize that it's actually the unintended comedy route, and I love it.

Can't wait for ANY romance scene.

[set-phasers-to-whump]

bound together

prompt: brass knuckles (alt no.3)

whumpee: illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

here's one i did ahead of time...saw the prompt and had a Vision. it's pre or established ot3. hope you like!

Illya returns to their shared hotel room with a nasty bruise forming on his temple and blood crusted beneath his fingernails. Napoleon knows this because he’d stopped Illya as soon as he’d come through the door, because Illya had been nearly an hour late, because they’d started to think he was hurt, or dead. 

“Sorry I’m late,” is all the explanation they get. “It is taken care of.”

“Happy to hear it,” Napoleon replies. “But what exactly happened?”

Illya raises his shoulder. “Was a fight.”

“A bad fight?” Gaby asks, examining one of his hands, looking critically at the blood. 

Illya gently tugs his hand out of her grip. “Nothing I could not handle.”

Napoleon reaches out a hand to touch the bruising on Illya’s forehead. The marks are evenly spaced, the same shape repeated four times. He knows what made these marks. Knows there must be more of them, hidden beneath Illya’s ever-present turtleneck. 

“Are you dizzy at all?”

Illya fixes him with a look. “I am not concussed, if that is what you mean.”

“But do you feel quite alright?”

“I am fine.”

With this, Illya brushes past them and into the bathroom. He isn’t rude about it, and Napoleon and Gaby had both expected it. 

Still. 

“Those marks on his head…” Gaby whispers. 

“Brass knuckles,” Napoleon whispers back. “How he has managed to avoid getting a concussion I really don’t know.”

“And the blood,” Gaby adds. “I don’t think it’s his, but it must have been quite the fight.”

The shower turns on, and the pair move to the couch. Gaby pours them each a glass of wine while they wait for their partner. 

--

In the shower, Illya catalogues the bruises. Uniform marks across his body, some deeper than others, depending on the severity of the hit and how much fabric had been between his skin and the metal. 

Everything aches. He has, of course, been hit with brass knuckles before, but never so extensively. Usually, they’d come as a prelude to something more, or else he’d been able to very quickly overcome their owner. 

This time, though - it had taken him a while to overpower the four men who had attacked him. He had necessarily given himself up to some punches from one man while taking care of another. 

He’d gotten it done, though. A piece of paper in his pocket, by now already torn up, and blood beneath his nails. Four bodies in varying states of consciousness lying in an alley. 

And him in the shower, rinsing off the sweat and ignoring the aches with practiced ease. 

Once the blood has been scrubbed away, he shuts off the water and steps onto the cold tiles. He dresses in pajamas - he never would have done this before them, but they’ve convinced him that sleeping in your clothes is far too suspicious of an action if someone should happen to knock on your door in the middle of the night - and prepares himself for the onslaught of touches and questions. 

He’s used to it by now. It is still very odd.  

He joins them on the couch, settling between them where they have purposely left a space. 

His arms are bare and the bruises on them are dark and angry. Gaby grabs him by the wrist, looking at the marks with scrutiny, a furrow between her brows. Napoleon scarcely touches him, his fingers light against the sore skin beneath them. 

They both know that his arms are not where the bruises begin or end. 

Gaby pulls his hand towards her, kisses the back of it. “Do they hurt very much?”

Illya shakes his head. “They are really not so bad.” The only thing a bruise can do is ache. 

Napoleon’s fingers are on his face again, touching the most painful of the bruises. “Did you kill them?” he asks, and his voice is scarcely above a whisper. 

Illya shakes his head again. Once, he would have killed them without thinking. Once, it would have been expected of him. 

“Was not necessary for the mission. They were unconscious when I left.”

“How many?”

“Four.”

“There were only supposed to be two.” This is Gaby, gripping his hand just a bit too tight. 

Illya shrugs. “Maybe they got suspicious.”

“Lucky you know how to handle yourself,” Napoleon says. His voice is casual but Illya knows there’s worry hidden underneath. 

Sometimes he still cannot believe that people worry about him, now. 

“I am okay,” he says, because he wants them to know that they do not have to worry. That he has survived much worse. That, if he has any say in it at all, he will come back to them again and again. 

This is dangerous. For all of them. To be bound together like this, to care about one another like this. 

It gives them strength, though. Knowing that the others are there. Having people to hold yourself accountable to. Having people who worry when you return late. People who care about what happens to you, who care whether you live or die. 

“I am okay,” he repeats, because he knows that they know what he means. 

They both shuffle closer to him, hands and limbs tangling together, and he scarcely notices the pain. 

thanks for reading!!! hope you liked it :)

[decoryear]

Rabbit Wooden Walking Stick, Walking Stick, Wooden Stick.

For Order Inbox Or Visit Our Website 👇👇

https://www.decoryear.com/

#walkingstick #foryou #trending #trendingvideo #antique #viral #tumblr

[robthepensioner]

Fleetwood Old Boys Band on Tram Sunday at Fleetwood. A lot of the band are very old boys, and some of them are ladies, as is the modern way.

[thoughtsfromthecowshed]

I’m a bit late to the latest Criminal minds episode but anyway

Jill Gideon is giving huge Erin Strauss vibes and it’s really weird it’s like seeing what wouldve happened to Strauss if either she left the BAU after her f up, or after she was sober and didn’t die

Also hope David and Emily are safe

[christinered]

DO YOU SEE THIS???

Why?.. WHY!? Why is this random squirrel staring at me through my kitchen window?

This Little Fucker isnt scared at all! Gave the glass a hard knuckle wrap and it flinched and stopped looked at me..AND THIS IS WHAT I'VE GOT NOW!!

Even the wildlife is gettng angry here in New York City.

This ones got an attitude problem too.

I love New York City.

Never the same day twice.

Stop by anytime.

Ask for ~Red

[lotusliasart]

Some more DA-ocs I've got in the works for this portrait page! Not all the characters I have will fit, so I'm mostly just doing protags and their siblings/kids and a couple ttrpg dorks from old games.

[julie-finlay]

Finlay Friday

13x01: "Karma to Burn", script extracts. Pt. 3/3. Unaired scenes under the cut.